The Boy Who Waited
by WeirdAnimeAbnormality
Summary: He waited for her. On their little corner, in the little village, Gilbert would wait. The ten year old would wait however long it took to see his friend again. Rated T for character death.


_A/N Hello everybody! This is my first ever fanfiction posted here on and I hope you all enjoy it. This features Hungary and Prussia, from Hetalia. In case you are unfamiliar with their human names, please allow me to help you out._ _Prussia is Gilbert, and Hungary is Elizabeta. In case you are still confused, just know that Hungary has many variations of her name, all correct, so I hope that you accept my variation. Seeing as I am still a rather new author, I'd greatly appreciate any feedback or suggestions you may have, in order to help me improve! I hope you have a lovely day!_

He waited for her. Every single night, as the villagers shut their windows and doors, and blew out their candles, he'd creep away, to that little corner. She'd be there, eyes of moss sparkling in the light of his lantern.

Gilbert would approach her, ever so cautiously, and hold out his hand. There would be a piece of chocolate there for her, and she would take it, scrutinizing his faked smirk with the knowledge and wisdom that was nearly unheard of for someone of her young age. At least, Gilbert thought she was about as young as him- only ten. He couldn't know for sure, as she had never revealed her true age.

The two of them would sit there, on that little corner, exchanging made up stories of faraway lands, delighting in their childhood fantasies. They would laugh about the old days, when both Gilbert and her had thought her a boy, before Gilbert had been taught a lesson on the human anatomy by the orphanage.

They'd stay there until dawn, Gilbert feeling as happy as someone as emotionless as him could, before she'd leave. Not, however, before offering to take him with her, to take him away from this miserable existence. To bring him on an adventure.

For whatever reason, he'd always decline. Perhaps it was for fear of the dreaded forest, or perhaps it was something else, but he'd always say, "maybe another time." She'd leave, and that would be it until the next night.

One dawn, she seemed exceedingly urgent. "You must come," she pleaded. "You must. Come on, come with me into the forest. I beg you!"

Drawn by a force, tempted as he was, he said no. It wasn't as if the forest was actually haunted, or anything- it wasn't, and he knew it. It wasn't as if he thought that she'd kill him- he knew she wouldn't. It was as though he simply… couldn't.

The next night, she did not come. Gilbert had a feeling that she may never come again. That he'd never again see the swish of her light brown hair, waving in the wind. That he'd never again feel the force of one of her crushing hugs. That he'd never again comfort her as she cried, having been chased off once again by the villagers. That he'd never laugh with her until their stomachs hurt, that he'd never again see her, be with her. But still, he couldn't bring himself to move from the spot on which he now stood, rooted upon.

He waited for her.

Hours, Gilbert waited. He stood at the little corner, on the little street, in the little neighborhood, in the little town. Their little corner of the world. He waited patiently, never moving, his gaze never wavering from the small dirt road. That was where she would always appear, right? Surely that would not change, not now.

She would come back, soon, and then they would chat, all night, into the early hours of the morning. When dawn arrived, they would resign themselves to going back to places they'd rather not go to alone. They did not deserve to be called home. For him, the dawn meant going back to the orphanage. For her, the dawn meant going back to the forest. The forest she could not bring herself to abandon. Yes, she would come, and Gilbert would learn more about her, and their bond, however reluctant it was, would grow.

Gilbert did not know her name. He didn't even know her age... But that had never mattered, not to them. She didn't know much about him, either. All that mattered was their little corner. Their little escape.

Sunsets became exciting. Sunrises became a thing to dread. They were creatures of the night, the two of them. They belonged in the moonlight, not the sunlight. Yes, she would come. Surely she wouldn't break their little routine. Surely she wouldn't break what remained of Gilbert's fragile heart.

He waited, leaning against the wall of the candy store. The boy, an albino boy shunned by most, held a piece of chocolate in his hands, just as he always did. Gilbert waited for her all night, and all day. When the village boys came and threw rocks at him, he did not falter. When the shop owner screamed at him to move, he did not falter. He stood. Waiting. For her.

Though, in the depths of his heart, he knew the terrifying truth.

She was never coming back.

The chocolate melted. Gilbert didn't care. The sun beat down on his neck. He refused to acknowledge it. The children, with all their childish cruelty, mocked him. His ears never even twitched. His friends pounded him into the ground when he didn't answer them. He never fought back. Gilbert took it, every single blow, truly believing that he deserved it.

He should have gone with her. When she had offered her hand, to go with her into the forest, that one last urgent time. He should have taken it. Then, maybe, she wouldn't be gone forever. And if she was, at least Gilbert would be with her, instead of here, surrounded yet alone.

When they were done with him, he ran. Never looking back. Ignoring the painful twisting of his ankle, the sparks of pain that surrounded his ribs. Gilbert ran into the dreaded forest. The one that villagers never went to.

The one that took her life.

Gilbert could hear the villagers screaming, now. The pounding of thousands of hooves were drilled into his brain, and he suddenly understood why she had been so worried, so insistent. She had known that his village would be attacked that day. How, he did not know, nor care. Gilbert only cared about her safety, something that he could feel, in the depths of his very soul, was at risk. The thought made his legs move all the more quickly.

He jumped over logs, rocks, streams, somehow knowing every nook and cranny as though it was a part of his own body. Something told him to head where the trees were the tallest. Gilbert didn't just do that. No, being on the ground would make him vulnerable, easy to spot. He climbed the trees, jumping from branch to branch and thanking the universe for his ability to do so.

He climbed, jumped, pulled himself up, and continued the process, however tiring though it was. Gilbert had to find her, he simply had to, for a world without their bickering, a world without her laughter, was not a world that he wanted to live in.

It took what felt like hours, but eventually Gilbert found a treehouse, crudely constructed yet sturdy all the same. Wooden planks were haphazardly nailed together, the little shack surrounded by leaves, moss, and various other bits of nature, meant to act as a sort of camouflage. A ragged cloth served as a door, a makeshift window being what appeared to be a punched-through hole in the wall.

Gilbert climbed this particular tree, the tree holding what he hoped to be her home, with much urgency, finding more strength in his worn out body than he deemed possible. Adrenaline rushed through him, pushing him on, giving him the courage and motivation he lacked in order to reach the dreary little place.

Once he had arrived towards the branches high enough to reach the enter the worn-down treehouse, Gilbert cautiously moved aside the patched up cloth, peeking inside. The first thing he noticed was a trail of blood, appearing as though someone had wandered all over the place as they bled. There was a little chest, open, with bits of food inside, though they looked as though they had become rotten long ago. A bow, with a quiver filled with arrows, were resting against the wall on which the makeshift door was placed. In the corner, there was a pile of torn up blankets, creating a little nest. That's where the trail of blood ended.

In it was her body, long brown hair circling her head like a halo. An arrow was lodged within her chest, just far enough away from her heart to prolong her death. It wasn't her own arrow, that was for sure, and Gilbert wondered if it was the arrow of one of the attackers, from his village. Perhaps they had come here beforehand. That was probably how she had known. Most likely, they had made camp below her treehouse, and killed her upon realization, before circling the village and attacking. That was most likely why Gilbert hadn't been attacked- they'd left the area beforehand.

He scrutinized her body, desperately searching for any signs of life, only to find none. She was holding a locket, clutched tightly within her cold grasp. It had her name engraved. Gilbert didn't know how he knew what it was, but he had never known anything as much as he knew that this was her name. _Elizabeta._

He fell to the ground, his silver locks obscuring his view. His small body shook with the force of his sobs. He didn't know why he cared so much. He had never felt so heartbroken, not once before in his life. He'd never been driven to tears before. What had caused him to fall apart now, of all times? Maybe it was seeing her emerald eyes open and glassy, unseeing, when they had once been so full of life.

Gilbert hadn't loved her. No, what pained his chest, what ripped apart his dwindling sanity, wasn't love. It was the strong, everlasting feeling of friendship. He wouldn't have loved her. He couldn't love. The best he could do was be friends. He was nearly heartless- the only part of his heart belonging to her, while others believed he had a heart. They called him names, and made fun of him, but at least they believed that he had a heart, had strong emotions. She had the biggest heart of them all… though people thought her heartless, just because she wore rags instead of riches, and stole their thrown out food. Yes, that was the tragedy. That someone with so much life, so much potential, was gone. It should have been him.

Overcome with grief, he fell beside her, and lay down on the rough wooden floor. There, he began to wait, something he was beginning to grow used to. He waited. And waited. And waited.

He waited for her to wake up. Though she was never to return to the land of the living, he waited. No one came for him. He hadn't expected them to. They were all dead, most likely, or thought him dead. Though Gilbert grew hungry, thirsty, and tired, he continued to wait, unmoving.

He waited for her until the blissful embrace of death finally came to greet him as well.

And when he opened his eyes, in this unfamiliar place, the first thing he saw was her pale hand, not quite as devoid of color as his, reaching out to him. He reached up, and took it, pulling himself up. Mossy, or emerald- he could never tell- green eyes met ruby red. Gilbert cleared his throat, summoning up the self-satisfied smirk that he was known for. Except, this time, he meant it. For once, he felt happy, though it still wasn't quite complete.

"I waited for you."

The corners of Elizabeta's eyes crinkled as she smiled. How had he never noticed that they did that before? It felt as though all the pieces of his heart, once broken beyond repair, had come crashing together all at once. He was with her. He was home.

Elizabeta's mouth opened, and for a moment Gilbert was afraid that this was all a dream, and that he would wake up, cold and alone, to resume his suffering. He repeated himself, nearly petrified with pure terror that she'd fade before his very eyes, "I waited for you." And, as she began to speak, he realized that he need not have worried.

"I know."

 _Alright, That's my first story on here! It was based on the prompt: "He waited for her." I took it and ran with it, I suppose. Thank you so very much for taking time out of your day to read this, I appreciate it very much! I apologize for the self promo, but it'd mean the world to me if you took the time to check out my wattpad account, Weirdanimewriter. I have plenty more Hetalia fanfictions there, as well as other stories. *hides behind a shield* so sorry if you dislike self-promo!_

 _Bai~_

 _~Weirdanimeabnormality out!_


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